So Long!
by verfens
Summary: Arthur had outlived countless nations, but this was one he had never hoped to, or dreamed to. USUK. M for future smut.


So Long!

Arthur had outlived countless nations, but this was one he had never hoped to, or dreamed to. USUK.

Chapter one: The End and the Beginning

This is a repost of Goodnight Moon, with some revisions.

* * *

It had been fifty since his death. Fifty years, 6 months, and three days. America the Brave had been consolidated with his brother, and had ultimately disappeared.

Across the sea, Arthur felt a bit unwell. He decided that a tea break was in order. It was his fifth that day. But, generally people did not question his break habits.

The heartbroken nation reached for his good luck charm- one Alfred had given to him on his birthday, and found he didn't have it. In fact, it wasn't in his office, nor was it with Matthew- he had called the moment he had discovered it wasn't in his room. There was only one other place it could be, or it was lost forever.

Alfred's house.

Arthur frowned at the idea of what he was thinking of doing. Surely his boss wouldn't be happy with him flying across the ocean for a _trinket_. Even if it was the last thing Alfred had given him.

Besides. Alfred was dead now. The fact lingered in his heart for a moment before he shoved it away. People died. Even nations died. He had to get over it someday.

But damn if he didn't he want it. He could just pass it off as a visit to Matthew.

And he ended up doing just that. He never even saw Matthew, making a beeline for Alfred's old house. He hoped it hadn't been sold, or the locks changed. He still had the key.

The lights were out, but from the front door, he could see a hand poking out from the hallway from the living room.

Arthur's blood ran cold like ice. Jesus. Was that a body? He crept up slowly to check. It wasn't as if he was a stranger to bodies.

Bright blue eyes were wide open, unseeing. The tear tracts on his face were still visible. He had died reaching out for something that wasn't there.

But more important than that, it was unquestionably Alfred's body.

At that, Arthur stumbled back a few steps. He tried to remind himself that Alfred was dead- had been dead for six months.

He was supposed to be dead. Dead people left bodies. But… he had been crying.

Alone.

Arthur put his hand up to his mouth. He had never been told about this. Why hadn't Alfred received the utmost of care?

There was something left open on the living room floor. Why wasn't Alfred in a grave somewhere, or better yet, in his memorial?

Arthur slowly made his way over to it, trying to force back instinctive fear and grief. He wanted so badly to get away from the damning physical evidence that Alfred was dead. Hesitantly, he picked up the album.

The first page had Alfred smiling, looking sick, with Matthew in the background, cooking. The caption was, "I hope I remember him."

Arthur's eyes lingered over the caption. It was his own handwriting, but he didn't remember writing it at all.

As he looked through the album of pictures of Alfred, in each photo, getting sicker and sicker, a piece of paper dropped out, messily folded.

Arthur picked it up and unrumpled it. He tried to read the messy scrawl.

_"Dear Arthur,"_ It began. _"I'm sorry for stealing the charm I gave you, but I had to find a way to bring you back here to find my body."_

Arthur squinted a bit. This was unmistakably Alfred's handwriting, although strained and quite messy.

_"I'm so sorry that I wasn't strong enough to make you stay with me, but I couldn't watch as you knew me less and less. You went to get me a glass of water, and three minutes later, had already forgotten I was still alive. If you're reading this, then I probably am dead. My medicine just ran out, and I knew I had to say goodbye somehow."_

Arthur reread the lines, dread forming in his heart. He... he had forgotten him?

_"I wanted to tell you thank you. This photo album of the last few months of my life has been a blessing. It was a very sweet thought you had to try and preserve your memories, even though it ultimately didn't work."_

Arthur read the rest of the letter slowly. He didn't want to find out what exactly had happened to Alfred. He had a feeling it was his fault.

The letter detailed their last few months together, how Alfred had been so terribly sick by the end of it, and about how slowly, Matthew and Arthur had forgotten about him, until they had just up and left him.

He told him, through writing about the last week of his life, telling him in his final words. _"Up until now, I've been telling myself to be strong."_

_"I'm scared."_

There was no signature, but there didn't need to be one.

His last emotive words were a signature enough. Arthur felt his heart breaking. Alfred had gone through all of that alone. Alone. The thought was enough to make Arthur cry. He didn't deserve that… he never deserved that. Alfred hadn't deserved such a death. Arthur had to put the letter away, back into the album. He really was wretched, for letting such a thing happen.

He should call Matthew, the thought popped up as he looked back to where Alfred lay dead on the floor. He had the right to know.

Arthur wasn't very eloquent during the call. His tone of voice alarmed Matthew enough that he booked the next flight in. Meanwhile, Arthur closed Alfred's eyes and set him into his bed, having to bite back tears.

If his country reformed, then there was a small chance he would wake up again. But that chance was miniscule.

Alfred, so lively in life, looked frail in death.

Arthur pulled the covers from their old bedroom up over the body. If there was something he was good at, it was making bodies look alright. He had practically made it into an art form.

Matthew had practically raced to the house, and now he was knocking furiously at the door. As he looked inside, he too saw the body, and was immediately confused.

Then it hit him- Gilbert.

When Gilbert had died, everyone close to him forgot about his presence first. He hadn't been all that close, so he had been friends with him up until his death. He remembered vaguely that even giving Elizaveta his virginity hadn't been enough to make her remember him.

What had he done? He had left, and therefore killed his own brother.

The two were to be left with the guilt, and Alfred's body was moved to a memorial in what used to be his heart.

* * *

_6 Months Earlier_

Arthur Kirkland was living as best as he could now that the special relationship he had had with the boy named Alfred had been officially called off, 50 years ago to this day. That had been the day the brightest boy he had ever known had officially ceased to exist.

But Alfred hadn't died. No, he had been left standing there like an idiot, and his brother opened his eyes and breathed out a sigh of relief. Alfred was still there. He was like Gilbert, then. Though, that ex nation had suffered until his ultimate death, thirty years prior to this.

Now, Arthur was getting a phone call from Matthew. He hadn't gone to see the boy in about 15 years. He really did have to get out anymore.

Just because Alfred broke up with him, didn't mean he had to let Alfred ruin him.

He answered the phone. "Hello?" He asked, politely.

"Hey, England." Matthew said, sounding timid. "I know you don't want to talk about Alfred, but…" His grip on the phone tightened.

"I told you; don't mention that wanker to me ever again!" He growled.

"Look, it's important." Matthew said, pushing past this. "It's about his health. It's taken a turn for the worse, Arthur. I'm speaking to you now as a human. He's only got six months to live- he's dying on us. This time, for real."

Arthur's heart clenched. "What? But the last time you called, you said he was fine, if he needed a visit from someone besides you!"

"That was 15 years ago." Matthew said, a little chilly. "And I meant for you to come see him. Now you have no choice, he's dying. You see him now, or forever hold your peace."

"Fine. I'll come over." Arthur grumbled. "Don't expect me to make up with him, or anything."

"Arthur, I always expect the worst from you." He said flatly, and hung up.

That was right…he had only ever been assumed the best of by Alfred.

And now he was going to die.

* * *

Arthur had brought flowers as he walked up to Alfred's old house. The place looked tired, though it was clean. It didn't have the homey feel it used to. Instead, the place was sterile. He just hoped Alfred didn't mind him bringing something to spruce up the place.

Matthew answered the door, looking as tired as the house was. He looked like he had been cooking. "Hello, I actually thought you wouldn't come." He said, flatly.

"But I did." He muttered, becoming irritable at the accusation. "It's not like he broke up with me or anything, for no reason."

"He thought you wouldn't want him any more in this state." Matthew was exasperated with him. "And you yelling at him after he did obviously confirmed those fears."

Arthur didn't answer that, though he muttered irritably, "Where is he?"

"He's been in his bedroom all day. He came down with a cold a few weeks ago, and it turned into pneumonia. Now he's got a very slim chance of recovery. I figured, after all you two idiots went through in the past two centuries, and before that, you would owe him a last visit."

Arthur's throat tightened up. Pneumonia was a terrible way for such a once-proud nation to go. "H-How long does he have?" He asked, trying to speak even though he felt like his world was falling apart all over again.

"I'm already having trouble remembering him." Matthew said grimly. "Don't you remember what happened to Gilbert? Everyone near and dear to him forgot that he was alive after GDR was dissolved, starting with his family. That means that his time of death is getting closer."

It clicked. He wouldn't even remember Alfred by the time he was dead. The poor boy would probably die alone, now friendless in a world where most of the world no longer cared about the once foolishly proud nation. He had heard from Matthew, last time they had spoken, that Alfred didn't get out much anymore. That would be problematic, as Alfred would have no one by his side when…when that time finally came.

Gilbert had had Matthew there for him; that was right.

Who would be there for Alfred?

No one, that's who.

Arthur bit his lip. "I know I should have visited more often, but…"

"You should have visited him-Because you haven't seen him once since the breakup." Matthew's voice was accusatory. "He's dying now because he's just given up! There's nothing left for him but me, and I'm starting to forget he's even here!" Matthew's anguish at the thought of his one and only brother perishing alone was enough to make him even angrier at Arthur.

"Guys, guys." Came a weak voice. "Chill out, I'm right here."

Arthur's head snapped up. It was a pale young man with messy blonde hair.

He almost didn't recognize him.

It was Alfred.

He looked so different, like he hadn't showered properly in days, his hair matted and dirty. He looked pale, and the lively gleam was gone from his eyes, replaced by cool acceptance.

He knew he was dying, and he had accepted it.

Matthew was right. He had given up the fight already.

"It's been awhile, England." He said, voice stiff. "How've you been?"

"About the same, I'd say." He said, so shocked by Alfred's change that he forgot to mute his harshness for the sake of the boy.

Matthew shot him a dirty look. "I-I mean," He started, trying to correct his mistake, but Alfred didn't let him.

"I thought so." Alfred nodded. "Nations shouldn't be worried with the happenings of ex-nations. It's only natural you've moved on." But he hadn't, and Arthur wanted to cry out that he was wrong, that he still cared about him, and wanted the idiot back around him, holding him and telling him he was wonderful.

But he shut his mouth, and let Alfred speak down about himself. "Yeah, it's great to see you. Been fifty years, you know? The only longer separation we had been between the revolution and the beginning of the 20th century." He smiled, shakily. "Even if you haven't missed me, I've been missing you."

"If you missed me, why did you break up with me?" He snapped, throwing courtesy for the dying man out the window.

Alfred looked surprised, life being put back in his dull blue eyes for a heartbeat, before it was replaced by guilt. "I figured you would move on, and it seems like you have."

"Well, since you never gave me a bloody choice in the matter…." He growled, honestly wanting to strangle that idiot, before Alfred started coughing hard, and wouldn't stop. Matthew raced to the kitchen, as Arthur pushed aside his anger in his confusion as to what was going on.

Matthew rushed back into the room with a small vial of something, and helped Alfred tip his head back while the boy suffocated on air, and forced him to drink it. Alfred's eyes lolled back, and he collapsed onto Arthur, before he was snatched from his arms, and Matthew instead cradled him.

"It was a mistake bringing you here." Matthew said, stonily. "You want to blame him for a decision he made out of fear." He started walking away, and Arthur forced himself to speak.

"W-Wait…He looked better than he is…" Arthur struggled. "He…I need to apologize, Matthew. You have to understand, he broke my heart."

Matthew sighed. "Fine. I won't kick you out, but I'm not happy with you. I'll have to stock him up on his medicine tonight. If it's gonna be like this, he's probably going to have a lot of attacks." He kept walking away. "He has to be in bed when he wakes up, so stay here."

Arthur awkwardly stood there while he heard Matthew speaking to an unconscious Alfred. "I'll be back in a few hours, Arthur. Please don't disturb him, he needs his rest." He grabbed his keys, and left the house, before Arthur heard the garage door open, and a minute later, it closed again.

He sighed softly, rubbing his neck. "Well, damn. That was not how I wanted to first meet him again."

* * *

Time for Alfred and Arthur was running out, that much was clear to Arthur. He had a very important decision to make.

Was it really worth it to remain mad at Alfred until his death? Or should he attempt to make the best out of a bad situation?

He pondered that for a moment, while he went up the steps to Alfred's room.

He thought of all the times that Alfred had pushed aside something stupid he had done for his sake, and made his decision.

For all the times Alfred had done that for him, Arthur could do this for him. He would hold aside his anger at being dropped so quickly, and would make Alfred's life a little more comfortable, at least, until he forgot about him.

He entered Alfred's bedroom quietly. The wretch had a flushed face, puffy eyes, and was having trouble breathing. Had Arthur really sent him into a fit that caused this? He had looked marginally better before he had started coughing. And now look at him.

Arthur went over to his bedside, and felt his burning forehead. He was running a pretty high fever, apparently, but he didn't want to give him ibuprofen until he knew it was okay. He took Alfred's hand into his own, and squeezed it.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't often utter those words, but Alfred deserved it.

"Man, I never thought I'd hear those words from you again, Art." Alfred croaked, and Arthur had to restrain himself from whacking him upside the head.

"I-I was worried about you, tosser!" He said, flustered, and instead allowed himself to soften, reminding himself that well…

Alfred wasn't going to be here much longer.

Arthur let Alfred pull him down into a hug. "I know you were. That's fine. This isn't something I thought you'd be able to push to the side, even if you've moved on."

"I…I haven't, actually." Arthur revealed, allowing Alfred to hold him like he used to.

"Hunh. Then why'd you get so snippy with me?"

"You looked like you always did. Maybe a little sick, but not….not _dying._" Arthur revealed. "I didn't feel the need to push aside my upset."

"And you are now?" He teased, though there was no fire behind it.

"Oh, shut it. You're sick, dying even, and I have every right to be a little angry after that stint you pulled 50 years ago. Why did you think I wouldn't want you anymore?"

"Because…you were drawn to me because I was strong, and now I'm weak. Technically, I'm worse than useless. I'm supposed to be nonexistent. But here I am." Alfred revealed, and Arthur sat up, pulling him into a hug, now coddling his big baby.

"Alfred, I love you for all your faults. I would have spent the last 50 years with you, instead of both of us miserable until this happened."

"I'm sorry." Alfred apologized. "I was too weak to face you after I was dissolved."

"That's alright, lad. It's in the past now. What we need to do now, is spend what little time we have left, together." Alfred smiled, and thanked him softly, closing his eyes.

"I really should sleep now, Arthur. Matthew will be upset at me if I don't take care of myself." Alfred said, closing his eyes. "And I heard what he said to you." He gave a little smile. "Bad dog."

That was a little joke between them, back when they had been dating. Arthur had a kink for, well…no one needed to know that.

But that was good. Alfred was feeling well enough to make jokes. Maybe he could pass through this.

Another look at Alfred's once-strong body and those thoughts were again, wishful thinking. Alfred looked like he hadn't eaten a solid meal in a few weeks. He looked thin, frail. His muscles were gone.

All that work for nothing, apparently.

"Get some rest, idiot. I'll make you coffee when you wake up." He muttered, and closed the door behind him.

Alfred was smiling just a little brighter now.

* * *

Arthur got his stuff settled into the guest room while Matthew was out, and by the time he had gotten back, he had made them cups of tea, so they could talk like civilized people instead of having a yelling match over whose fault it was Alfred was like this.

Alfred didn't need that kind of stress.

Instead, Arthur hoped they would have a polite conversation considering paths for the future- because Arthur wanted to try and salvage his and Alfred's relationship, if that was a possible solution to their misery.

When Matthew walked in the door with groceries, Arthur was waiting for him at the table, sipping his cup of tea. He set it down, and poured Matthew a glass. "We should talk. I want to stay." He said, bringing the subject up lightly, he hoped.

Matthew gave him a bit of a mistrustful look. "You just caused an attack in him. I don't know if you're the best person to have around while he's in his last few weeks."

"I know I did, and I apologized to him. He wasn't asleep until a little while after you left, so I went up to say a few things." Arthur explained, calmly.

"You went up there, after I told you not to?" He asked, eyebrows raising, temper flaring. Arthur could see that this wouldn't be civilized much longer if Arthur didn't calm Matthew down.

"Keep quiet. Alfred is asleep now, and he does need his rest, by the looks of him." Arthur said quietly, putting his hands up. "As I said, I needed to apologize. I was a right arse, and felt the need to say sorry. Alfred's pushed aside the past for me before; it was about time I did it for him."

Matthew calmed down, and seemed to hear what Arthur was saying. "Good. He needed to hear that." He said, and sat down across from Arthur, putting down his grocery bag. "So what's your thinking, Arthur?" The boy asked, looking tired. He had been taking care of an ex-nation who had given up for 50 years. That must have been tiring. Especially considering Matthew had a new, bigger job.

Arthur sighed. "I was thinking. To prevent us from forgetting him entirely, that he was here in these past years, we could start a scrapbook."

"A…scrapbook." Matthew said flatly. "That's your grand idea to ensure we don't forget about him?"

"Well, we won't be able to stop that, but we can remind ourselves he's still here by trading off the book every week. One picture every day, of Alfred and us. The duty of taking the pictures will switch with the person that owns it. Write it down in your events in your iPhone, or something." Arthur muttered at the end, and then took another sip of tea. "This way, we'll have a remembrance of him when he's gone."

Matthew pondered this for a moment, and then nodded. "That could work." He said, and grabbed his own. "Earl Grey?" He asked, and Arthur nodded, before he smiled in approval. "You remembered it's one of my favorite kinds, then."

Arthur nodded again. "I brought my own tea, so you don't have to buy it for me." He mentioned, and Matthew thanked him quietly.

They conversed quietly the details of Arthur staying over, Matthew giving Arthur an emergency bottle of medicine, and telling him when to use it, and how to take care of him afterwards.

They would try to bring this broken group of friends back together.

* * *

To conclude, I announce what comes after me.

I remember I said before my leaves sprang at all,  
I would raise my voice jocund and strong with reference to consummations.

When America does what was promis'd,  
When through these States walk a hundred millions of superb persons,  
When the rest part away for superb persons and contribute to them,  
When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America,  
Then to me and mine our due fruition.

I have press'd through in my own right,  
I have sung the body and the soul, war and peace have I sung, and  
the songs of life and death,  
And the songs of birth, and shown that there are many births.

I have offer'd my style to every one, I have journey'd with confident step;  
While my pleasure is yet at the full I whisper So long!  
And take the young woman's hand and the young man's hand for the last time.

Walt Whitman-So Long, Stanza 1.


End file.
